


The Witch and the Wolf

by Minervas_Revenge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minervas_Revenge/pseuds/Minervas_Revenge
Summary: New werewolf Draco seeks help from a potions expert.





	1. Chapter 1

**Draco: Lost**

The weak light inside the Leaky Cauldron bathed everything in gold and the air was stagnant, as if the doors and windows never opened to let in the outside. Fleetingly, Draco wondered if magic was responsible - maybe the same magic that kept the pub invisible to muggles. He experienced an uncharacteristic wave of anger that made him close his eyes and mentally count to ten. The anger was getting worse as the night wore on; lasting longer, leaving his hands shaking.

 

Laughter drew his gaze towards a family on their way through the pub to Diagon Alley. He could smell that they’d just had supper - roast beef. The adults had drunk wine... The older man, the wizard, smelled of something familiar. As Draco stealthily gave the air a deeper sniff, the wizard made eye contact with him.

 

Draco watched as the man said something to his wife and sent the family on their way without him. Then, he made his way over to Draco.

 

“Have you any family?” The man quietly asked, leaning against the bar.

 

“Who are you?” Draco asked with disdain.

 

“It's not important. There is a full moon tomorrow night. Do you have somewhere to go?”

 

Draco turned a full stare at his unwelcome companion. “How did you know?”

 

The man simply returned his stare, silent and patient.

 

“No,” Draco said quietly. “I don't trust myself alone.”

 

“Do you have a source for Wolfsbane Potion?”

 

Draco shook his head and drank the last of his ale.

 

“There is a potions shop in Hogsmeade. The owner is sympathetic and knows her stuff.”

 

“Hogsmeade,” Draco repeated. The wizard wanted him to seek help in a highly populated area so close to the full moon?

 

“If you have no family,” the wizard began, leaving the rest unsaid.

 

“I've just left them for their own safety,” Draco said darkly. He felt another wave of fury building within him and clenched his teeth.

 

The wizard gave an understanding nod. “Good luck,” he offered and left.

 

**Hermione: Lost**

 

Out of breath, Hermione leaned against a tree on the edge of the forest. She was dirt-stained and favoring her right ankle. After a moment, she pushed off the tree to lurch towards her home, a cozy cottage and large garden shed in which she stored her supplies.

 

Knocking echoed off the trees. Was someone at her door? Hermione hurried around to the front and found Minerva McGonagall just turning away.

                                                                     

“Headmistress!” Hermione called, halting her visitor.

 

“There you are, my dear. I thought you must be traveling - are you alright?”

 

Hermione realized she must look awful between her grief and untidy appearance. She gave a sigh that left her shoulders sagging.

 

“Join me for tea and I’ll tell you all about it,” she offered, gesturing for Minerva to follow her inside.

 

Aware that Minerva was eyeing her, Hermione levitated wood into the fireplace and with a flick of her wand, set it burning. She set a kettle to hover over the blaze. Hermione expected to be peppered with questions but Minerva launched into a lengthy rant about her green professors. Content to collect her thoughts before being questioned, Hermione hosted tea and nodded and made sounds of agreement or outrage, as appropriate, to Minerva’s litany.

 

“I’m still looking for someone to teach Runes,” Minerva hedged.

 

“I’m not a teacher, Minerva. But, thank you for thinking of me.”

 

“Are you going to explain what brought you to this state?”

 

Hermione remembered her trip into the forest and the tragedy that befell her the day before.

 

“I lost Crookshanks, yesterday. Just old age,” Hermione’s voice went thin. “I took him into the forest and buried him with the roots of his favorite tree.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Minerva offered in a hushed tone.

 

Hermione wiped stray tears from her cheeks and nodded.

 

“I fell asleep under the tree. Even though I’ve got an agreement with Bane, some of the centaurs don’t like me in the forest and a couple happened upon me at Crookshanks’ grave. They chased me and I tripped.” Her voice broke and she didn’t feel the need to say more. She’d wept herself to sleep last night and her chest felt hollow.

 

Minerva set aside her teacup and waved off a refill. “Of all the students I’ve worried over, Hermione, I worried the least about you. _Until now_.”

 

“What?” Hermione asked, dazed.

 

“You’ve cut yourself off from everyone, living here. Are you satisfied in life? Are you challenged? Are you happy?”

 

Hermione blinked and clutched her teacup close. “I’m hardly a hermit. I travel, I explore. I make new contacts and source potions ingredients.”

 

“It’s a waste of you. You’re much too intelligent to be just a potions shop merchant.”

 

Hermione lifted a brow to match Minerva’s and replied in a measured tone. “I have no interest in teaching.”

 

Minerva scowled. “No, no. Have you considered politics?”

 

Hermione gazed at Minerva for a moment; she was determined to press her point. “I have no interest in discussing this right now.”

 

“I’m sorry for the loss of your companion…”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Why don’t you join us at the Three Broomsticks on Thursday evening? I’ve just taken on Katie Bell for Transfiguration and Neville would love to see you.”

 

Hermione nodded noncommittally and stood, hoping Minerva would take the hint. She was ready for her guest to leave. Minerva understood. She followed Hermione to the door and they exchanged farewells.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione cast a couple of quick protective spells on her shop and reminded herself to grab the gathering basket on her way out – the full moon was the best time to pick scurvy-grass and find antler sheds.

 

Her heart suffered a pang when she glanced at Crookshanks’ empty perch but it was short lived; the bell over the shop door tinkled.

 

“I’m afraid we’re closed,” she called, walking brusquely towards the front of the shop from the back. The sight of a heavily robed wizard gave her pause.

 

“I need Wolfsbane Potion,” said a throaty baritone.

 

Hermione recognized a werewolf on the verge of change. The full moon would bring him out in a mere hour.

 

“It’s too late. You should have started taking it two days ago,” she breathed, standing quite still.

 

A low growl emanated from the hood.

 

“Do you need somewhere to go tonight?” she asked, forcing her voice not to quaver. She didn’t want to set off the werewolf’s predatory instincts.

 

“Please,” growled the wizard.

 

“Let’s hurry,” she replied, using as few motions as possible to summon her belongings. She spelled the shop shut for the night and the heavily-cloaked man followed her home.

 

“I’ll lock you in the shed,” Hermione explained, using her wand to whip open the door and hastily summon her most valuable ingredients out of it.

 

“This won’t hold me,” he snapped in his gravelly voice even as he tossed his satchel at her and stepped inside.

 

“Nothing a few spells won’t fix,” Hermione snapped in reply.

 

She shut the door just as the last bit of sun left the sky and cast a few spells to strengthen the shed’s structure. As an afterthought, she darkened the shed windows and made them shatterproof.

 

Surrounded by her wares, Hermione dropped to the ground in relief. _The nick of time._

 

Inside the shack, the wizard let out a bloodcurdling scream but it was cut short and turned into a howl. The door bowed ominously as the wolf tested it. Hermione heard scrabbling claws move around the shed and cursed. He’d destroy everything she’d left in there. 

 

Curiosity got the better of her and Hermione cleared one of the windows to take a peek. Burlap, dried plants, seeds, hair strands, and fluff were flying everywhere. In the middle of it was a white wolf with a tufted tail. Sensing her, the wolf locked eyes on Hermione and threw himself at the window, barking and growling. Shaken, Hermione scuttled away. Annoyed by the loss of her stockpile, she gathered up the few items she’d saved and the werewolf’s bag and took them into her home.

 

It would not be wise to leave the werewolf unmonitored, regardless that escape from the shed was nigh to impossible. Hermione forwent her moonlight gathering excursion. She ate a late supper and attempted to read but every bark, growl, yip, and rattle from the shed distracted her.

 

Sleep that night occurred only in handfuls of minutes. 

 

When dawn broke and all was quiet, Hermione snoozed a little. In the back of her mind, she wanted to check on her guest’s health. Yawning, she put together a tray of tea and toast. A glance through the shed window showed her that the wolf was gone, leaving only the man. Hermione banished her spells and moved quietly into the mess.

 

The wizard was sleeping under his torn robes. Hermione noticed the claw marks down his back and couldn’t help but follow them up his neck to a still-healing bite. Finally, her gaze noticed the distinctive color of his hair and she gasped in surprise. The wizard stirred and she hurried silently hustled to the door. With a quick glance back at him, Hermione set down the tray and left the door cracked open.

 

Draco Malfoy was a werewolf.

 

The thought repeated in Hermione’s mind the entire day. She walked to town to open her shop, thinking it. She greeted customers and filled their orders, thinking it. She stepped outside, her gaze towards her home, thinking it. And, in the evening, she headed home, full of astonishment.

 

_How had it happened?_

 

She found him sprawled on her sofa, clothed in his mended robes, hands over his face.

 

“I see you repaired the shed interior,” Hermione said, standing uncertainly in the doorway to the kitchen.

 

Draco peered at her and shrugged.

 

“How many nights does the moon affect you?” she asked.

 

“Two,” he replied, voice still deep with the change.

 

Hermione watched, transfixed, as he cringed and his entire body went tight, as if he was fighting off an invisible assailant. A growl ripped from him and he leapt from the sofa. Hermione stepped out of his way and he strode past her, out the door. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione followed him.

 

“Is there anything I can bring you?” she asked.

 

He pulled the shed door shut.

 

“Just stay away,” he snarled.

 

“Right,” Hermione breathed. She cast security spells on the shed and added a silencing charm; tonight, she would get some sleep.

 

The next day was a repeat of the previous except that Hermione did, indeed, sleep. She worked all day and returned home in time to confront the wizard on his way out. They stood in her tiny kitchen. Her gaze fell on the scrap of parchment on the counter; at least he had written a note.

 

“Leaving?”

 

Draco hefted his travel bag in response.

 

“I thought you wanted to learn how to make the Wolfsbane Potion,” Hermione said. 

 

His grey eyes flicked down, around the room, and back to her face before he replied.

 

“This isn’t a good time; I haven’t been home yet.”

 

“No?” Hermione asked, curious. She’d forgotten the Malfoys had moved out of country. France, wasn’t it?

 

“You don't need to hear my sob story, Granger,” he said, voice dipping low.

 

Hermione moved so that she wasn’t blocking the werewolf’s path; no need to incite him by standing between him and the exit.

 

“Suit yourself but you appear to need friends.”

 

“Are we friends?” he asked with a humorless grin.

 

Hermione had little knowledge of Draco’s life after Voldemort’s defeat. Details about the Malfoy family went quiet with the end of Lucius’ trial. While she had no idea how he’d become a werewolf, she empathized with Draco.

 

“There are worse things,” she said softly.

 

The wizard narrowed his eyes at her but she thought he might be hiding interest. An unexpected flutter of attraction made her breath hitch but just for a moment.

 

“See you in a couple of weeks,” he said.

 

“Two days before the full moon,” Hermione called after him as Draco stepped out of the cottage and Disapparated.

 

The note said ‘thanks’ and the sack beside it held Galleons; probably to pay for the supplies he’d destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this and the next chapters, I was reading POA. In canon, the Wolfsbane Potion must be consumed the week preceding the full moon. Oops. Oh, well. 
> 
> Also, while I do have more written, I am without a beta reader. It takes me awhile to review my own work. Hope that you enjoy it!


	3. Chapter 3

Draco did not correspond with Hermione but she knew, by the waxing and waning of the moon, when to expect him. He did, however, arrive early in the day and she invited him to share her lunch while she worked in her underground lab.

 

“The potion is nearly ready,” she explained, giving the smoking cauldron a gentle stir.

 

“I understand the ingredients are expensive,” Draco said.

 

“Your Galleons pay for it,” Hermione replied lightly, unconcerned.

 

“ _And_ room and board?” he pointedly asked.

 

Hermione shot him a glance and shrugged. “I won’t complain if you want to pay me more. …I’m glad of the company,” she added softly. He was standing close enough that Hermione could smell something deliciously spicy. Was that him?

 

“Are you gathering in the forest tonight?”

 

“No, I’ve got to open some croycat pods. Magic doesn’t work - the only way to crack them is with fire. I thought I’d have a little bonfire in the garden. ” Hermione wondered if she was babbling and then wondered why she cared. She glanced up at Draco to find him frowning at her. But he didn’t seem annoyed and he didn’t move away. She summoned a goblet and ladled some of the Wolfsbane Potion into it.

 

“Cheers,” Draco said, hefting the goblet to his lips. He took several swigs and made a face as he swallowed.

 

“Are you brewing anything else in here?” he asked, glancing around.

 

“No, why?”

 

He wrinkled his nose. “Something smells delicious. Beats this out,” he said, gesturing with the goblet.

 

“I only smell you,” Hermione said with a shrug. She lowered the flame under the cauldron to preserve the potion needed for the next two days.

 

She hid a smile as Draco surreptitiously tried to smell himself. When he moved closer to her and sniffed, she fought the urge to step into him. Hermione broke out in goosebumps to have him so near. Her body had caught up with her mind; she was _interested_ in him. Of course, he was the only wizard with whom she had regular social contact. He had no competition.

 

With a huff at herself, Hermione began tidying her workspace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Draco had moved away and was finishing off his potion.

 

“How is everything going for you?” she asked, attempting to distract herself.

 

“ _’Everything_?’”

 

He sounded insulted. Hermione stopped fussing with her ingredients and turned to face him.

 

“Have you settled in at home? Are you in touch with your parents?”

 

Draco’s gaze was wary but he shrugged. “I’m renovating the manor and my parents are happy in France. …No one there knows them.”

 

“A fresh start,” Hermione confirmed. Draco nodded.

 

“I’m heading upstairs to unlock. You’re welcome to stay or head to my house – I’ll tell you how to dismantle the wards. Incidentally, I cleaned up the spare room – no more sleeping in the shed.”

 

“You’ve made room for me in your home?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione replied simply, returning her jars to their shelves, labels out.

 

“I’ll go settle in, then,” he said.

 

“You’re welcome to transfigure the furniture to your liking,” she added, casting a cleaning spell over her work surface and the floor. “The furniture in _that_ room.”

 

“Thank you,” he replied.

 

Draco followed Hermione up the ladder that led into the back of her shop.

 

When he was gone, Hermione puttered around her shop and wondered what the hell she was doing allowing Draco Malfoy, client and _werewolf_ , into her life. It should have been temporary. She should have taught him how to make the damned potion and sent him on his way. But, it was nice to have a regular visitor despite their rotten past. He wasn’t rotten now. At least, not to her face.

 

Draco seemed to appreciate her company as much as she appreciated his. He probably wouldn’t like being thought of as a pet when he walked through the forest with her. Hermione stifled a giggle. He wasn’t anything like Crookshanks but his silent companionship in the forest reminded her of the kneazle. Until the centaurs had come upon them. Then, the wolf had become something else. He’d become her protector.

 

A room in her home was the least she could offer.

 

Hermione served only a handful of customers. Before closing up, she checked the Wolfsbane Potion to see that all was as it should be. Her walk home was thankfully brief in the brisk night.

 

It seemed Draco got through her wards; lights were on in the house. It warmed Hermione to see it lived in and waiting for her rather than dark and empty. But, Draco was not in the house. Through the kitchen window, Hermione saw that he’d built a fire and was sitting beside it in her garden. Something inside of her hummed with contentment.

 

As she set her things aside, Hermione noticed that she could smell Draco, again. His spicy scent lingered in her home. What was that? She walked slowly from room to room, following the trail. He’d been in the kitchen – she would have known that by the crumbs. He’d been in the living area and his room but he’d also been in her room. Hermione stood in her doorway, contemplating that Draco had gone into her bedroom. She glanced at her mementoes and drawers. Had he touched them? Opened her wardrobe? She frowned. Why would he have done it? Was she wrong? Perhaps, he hadn’t been in there at all. Perhaps, his smell just permeated everything. Why hadn’t she noticed his scent, before..? With a mental note to look it up later, Hermione rummaged in the kitchen for a few bottles and glasses.

 

“Shot of rum?” She offered Draco upon joining him beside the fire.

 

“Thank you,” he said, accepting a glass and holding it as Hermione poured a finger.

 

“Thank you for getting the fire going. It might not take all night to pop open those pods.” Hermione replied.

 

Hermione poured herself some rum and chased her shot with a butterbeer.

 

“Do you have any more of those?”

 

Hermione grinned to see an expression of eager interest on Draco’s face. Apparently, he was also a fan of Butterbeer. “I’ll grab one for you when I get the croycat pods.”

 

When Hermione returned, she settled into her chair with her wand ready in her right hand and her drink in her left; she wanted to be ready to summon pods when they cracked open.

 

“Do you travel? To stock your shop?”

 

Hermione glanced up at Draco, trying not to notice that he looked good in the flickering firelight. So close to the moon, his jaw was scruffy with beard growth and his voice was deeper. She wondered what else he was going through and double checked her mental note to research werewolves. She didn't what to embarrass him or drive him away by asking too many questions.

 

“Not as much as I did in the beginning. My partnerships are established but I always keep my ears open for sources of new ingredients. Why do you ask? Looking to travel?”

 

“I don't really know what to do. I had intentions of revisiting werewolf politics but…”

 

He glanced at Hermione, guarded, as if he wasn't sure how much to say. “I don't know that travel is an option for me anymore.”

 

“Of course, it is!” Hermione announced. She hated to see anyone defeated by a lack of faith in themselves. “You're certainly capable of brewing the potion.”

 

Draco scowled at her and drank deep from his bottle.

 

Hermione frowned in return, trying to reason his behavior.

 

“Do you not wish to be on your own?” she asked softly.

 

Silence hung between them for a minute. The fire snapped. Two minutes.

 

Draco replied darkly, “No.”

 

“What about your parents..?” Hermione immediately asked. She practically held her breath. Would she finally learn how it had happened?

 

“I can't stand the way they look at me,” he sipped from his bottle. “And I couldn’t bear it if I accidentally hurt them.”

 

Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair, effectively obscuring his face in shadows. “I come here because I trust you not to let me hurt anyone. You didn't laugh when you showed me how to make a sandwich and boil water. And you’re not afraid of me.”

 

Hermione listened, fighting her natural inclination to pepper the werewolf with questions.

 

“Not to mention, you don't look at me like I'm going to eat you.”

 

She fought a hysterical giggle and ended up choking on her casual sip of butterbeer at Draco’s last comment.

 

As she regained her composure, Draco leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. They stared at one another for a moment and Hermione was relieved to see he wasn’t angry. His walls were down. She could finally see him, relaxed and pensive, and he gave her the smallest smile. Hermione felt her insides flutter and gave him a restrained grin in reply. What was happening?

 

“It was a week after the Dark Lord fell,” Draco rubbed his left forearm, drawing Hermione’s gaze to the spot. She knew the Dark Mark lie there and the warmth growing inside her dimmed a bit. That was another story for another time.

 

“Greyback and a couple of other survivors stormed the Manor.”

 

“No,” Hermione breathed.

 

Draco’s pale eyes met hers and his mouth went tight. “Attacking me was payback for my family’s betrayal.”

 

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes but she blinked them away. Draco would not appreciate them. “That’s when you moved to France?”

 

“My mother murdered Greyback. _Then_ we moved.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione had fallen asleep in her chair with a book in her hand. Draco nosed her elbow. The problem with keeping a room in the house had presented itself; he wanted to go out but paws couldn’t operate doorknobs or a wand. In the future, he’d leave the house before his transformation.

 

Determined to get outside, Draco jostled the book out of Hermione’s limp hand and it gave a satisfying thump as it hit the floor. Hermione jerked awake and blinked at Draco.

 

Eager to stretch his legs, Draco whined and danced in front of the door.

 

Hermione gave a great yawn and Draco deduced that he needed a stronger message. He snuffled through the kitchen until he found the witch’s gathering basket and carried it to her, feeling ridiculous.

 

With a grin, Hermione cautiously held her palm out to Draco. He bumped his muzzle under her hand and suffered her to stroke his neck for a few moments before scampering away and sitting beside the door to stare imploringly at her.

 

“Right,” she breathed, stretching as she got up and summoned her cloak.

 

Draco whined again and his feet danced under him.

 

The moment the door swung open, Draco took off for the trees. He sprinted along the tree line, scaring up birds and whatever small critters hid in the undergrowth. He circled back towards the home, luxuriating in his power and speed. Slowing as he neared the house, he spotted Hermione shuffling around the garden, checking her plants. With new stealth, he stole up behind the witch and sat down to watch her. When she turned around, she gasped and pressed a hand to her chest.

 

“Draco Malfoy! You scared the life out of me!” she admonished. “I thought you were tearing up the forest.”

 

Draco cocked his head. He had come back for her.

 

“You want company?” she asked.

 

Draco stood and yipped at her. Hermione laughed and picked up her basket. “Let’s go, then.”

 

The forest was still around them; Draco sensed no danger. He padded along beside Hermione, now content to trot at her pace.

 

“My friends think I’m nutters, living alone and running a shop,” Hermione said as she made her way up a steep embankment.

 

“I’m happy,” she added. “I like it quiet. And I like taking leisurely trips to new places, meeting new people. Although, I keep _them_ at arm’s length.”

 

Draco circled her, concerned at her descending tone.

 

“I’ve never been successful with relationships.”

 

Rustling from thick brush ahead signaled life and Draco raced forward to investigate. A nest of puffskeins swarmed in the bushes and Draco left them to return to Hermione’s side.

 

“You men always want a sacrifice. Some sort of proof?” Hermione shrugged. Draco mulled over Hermione’s confessions. Did she think he wouldn’t understand her? Or wouldn’t remember? Perhaps, not. He didn’t mind listening; it was almost easier as a wolf. He wasn’t expected to respond. Although he wanted to tell her that only an insecure, selfish shit needed a ‘sacrifice’ from his witch.

 

“At least, Viktor and Ron did…” she added under her breath. With more strength, she announced that she and Ron made better friends.

 

“I could never be a Quidditch wife and, between you and me, I suspect Ron’s ties to _Harry_ got him onto the Cannons.”

 

If Draco could have laughed, he would have. She was not alone in her suspicion.

 

As he jogged along beside her, he noticed that her pace was slowing. It was late. Perhaps, she was tired. He watched, curiously, as she pressed her palm to the trunk of a large pine and slid to her knees.

 

Draco’s ears twitched; hooves were headed in their direction.

 

“This is where I buried Crookshanks,” she breathed.

 

The witch slumped to the ground. Was she going to cry? Draco could have howled; she had talked herself into misery and silent tears ran down her cheeks. Concerned, Draco slunk close and snuffled her ear. She gasped then giggled. With a sigh, she hugged him. She did not appear to want to leave the spot.

 

Draco wiggled out of the witch’s arms and circled the area, sniffing the air. He no longer heard hooves – the centaurs had moved away.

 

“I wonder if you’ll remember any of this,” Hermione muttered. She had summoned some hand-sized rocks and was building a fire ring. Before she lit it, she reclined against the tree and closed her eyes.

 

“I just want to rest my eyes for a moment,” she breathed.

 

Draco sniffed at her hand; she was fast asleep.

 

He trotted the perimeter a few times, widening his circle with each pass. He wanted to clear the area of others and figured the smell of a werewolf would keep away most beasties.  When Draco settled beside Hermione, she turned into him, presumably, for warmth and her aroma permeated his senses.

 

The witch’s dark curls gave off a sweet fragrance like fruit and her white skin, warm vanilla. But there was something else, something he couldn’t identify, that was infinitely appealing to him. He wanted to bury his nose in her neck and stay there. Breathing deep, it was no surprise that Draco fell asleep, too.

 

A sudden crack and the sharp scent of burning green wood startled Draco awake. He was disoriented to find himself shivering under Hermione’s cloak. A small fire crackled and spit sparks into the air. The sun was high but its warmth was scattered by the thick cover of tree branches.

 

“We fell asleep out here,” Hermione said. She sat close to the fire, warming herself.

 

“Did you stay here all morning?” Draco yawned.

 

“Yes, well I couldn’t leave you helpless.”

 

Draco scowled. He wasn’t helpless! Realizing he didn’t have his wand, he decided no reply was better than a sharp one. Grudgingly, he got up to be closer to the fire, arranging the cloak to strategically cover himself.

 

“I need a hot shower,” he muttered, feeling grimy.

 

“You’re not that dirty,” Hermione chuckled.

 

“I’ll feel better once I’m in robes, alright?” Draco replied, annoyance creeping into his tone. Hermione didn’t reply; her gaze was fixed on his left arm. Draco shuffled the cloak to hide the Dark Mark.

 

“We all bear scars. …Just not all of them are visible,” she said softly, gaze back on the fire.

 

Draco realized that the mark didn’t inspire fear in the witch; she was curious. He pulled his arm out from the cloak and looked at the despised symbol he’d wear the rest of his days.

 

“It won’t come off,” he said thickly. Oh, yes, he’d tried to remove it.

 

He looked up to find Hermione examining him.

 

“Shall I apparate us back?” she offered.

 

“Please,” Draco replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Upon Apparating home, Draco commandeered the bathroom. If the steam rolling out from under the door was any indication, he was scalding off a layer of skin.

 

Starved, Hermione bustled around the kitchen, assembling sandwiches and tea. Draco joined her, dressed in casual, soft robes, and began eating her sandwiches. When Hermione might have scolded him, she was distracted by his sudden lack of respect for her personal space. He stood beside her, arm brushing hers. Aghast, Hermione watched him eat one of her sandwiches in two large bites and reach for another but her annoyance mingled with confusion; she met his pale eyes and her heart fluttered. He lifted his brow as if waiting for her to berate him. Warmth curled through her veins and Hermione realized that something had changed between them.

 

A no-nonsense knock sounded, making Hermione jump. Draco went still, sandwich frozen in mid-air, staring at the door.

 

“McGonagall,” he said in a low tone.

 

“Hide,” Hermione whispered, heading for the entrance. Hagrid knew about the werewolf. If Minerva spotted Draco, she’d know it was him and his secret would be out.

 

“No need,” Draco said.

 

Hermione glanced back at him. He winked at her with newly-charmed dark eyes and hair.

 

“Right,” she muttered, stamping down the fire that had ignited in her stomach. 

 

When Minerva set eyes on the wizard in the kitchen, she insisted on returning at another time. She assumed what anyone would assume to find a witch alone with a freshly-showered wizard. Hermione didn’t try to correct her or stop her from leaving.

 

Relieved that she wouldn’t be forced to entertain, Hermione leaned against the door. Draco appeared in the entrance to the kitchen and they watched one another. He casually reversed his disguising spells.

 

What Hermione reluctantly identified as attraction reignited within her and she swallowed. Her mind remembered the luxury of waking up in Draco’s arms in the forest. She enjoyed the memory until she realized that she was being an idiot. Draco Malfoy did not want a relationship and he certainly didn’t want one with a Muggle-born. All he wanted was a Potions Master and, she was beginning to suspect, a shag.

 

With a centering breath, Hermione excused herself. She made another set of sandwiches – yes, Draco had eaten them all - and took them with her into the garden. There, she focused her energy on gathering, ruthlessly weeding, and replanting new sprouts. Each fresh, lascivious thought of Draco was punctuated by the thunk of her spade until her attention turned to her sore hands and knees. 

 

Frustration buried in the earth, Hermione returned to find the house quiet. The door to the room she’d cleared for Draco was closed; presumably, he was inside.

 

Feeling grimy, Hermione took a hot shower and scrubbed herself free of dirt. She remained under the spray until the tension left her shoulders and her skin was numb from the heat. With deliberate slowness, she lingered in the bathroom, drying her hair and wrapping up in the towel. All of the care Hermione took to relax herself was for naught when she left the sanctuary of the bathroom; Draco was sprawled invitingly shirtless on the sofa.  

 

When he lowered his book and met her gaze, it was all Hermione could do to not join him on the sofa and kiss him… Even if she gave into the spark between them, it was a full moon and he’d be a wolf for the night. She suddenly remembered that she wore only a towel. Helplessly turned-on and unable to utter a word, she marched into her room and donned her fluffiest pajamas. Fretting, Hermione decided that she wouldn’t continue like this. She couldn’t. She’d tell Draco it was time for him to learn how to make the potion or find a new master to make it.

 

Hermione emerged from her room to find the living room, blessedly, empty. A glance out the kitchen window showed a darkening sky; Draco had probably shut himself in his room. Hermione brewed herself a pot of tea and took it to her room to drink while she read. Exhaustion, however, dropped her right to sleep.

 

Sometime in the night, the werewolf had joined Hermione. She stirred and found a furry body beside her. He snuffled and settled his nose in her hair. Too tired to care, she sighed and let him stay.

 

Awkward came in the morning. Hermione awoke, again, in Draco’s arms. As delicious as it had been the night before, this time, he crossed all lines of comfort. She would never have described him as heavy but he had her completely pinned. A knee was crooked behind hers, insistently pushing her into the mattress. A warm hand had snaked under her nightshirt and lay on her stomach. The most disconcerting thing was that he was utterly nude and too erect to ignore, pressed against her buttocks.

 

For a few minutes, Hermione remained still, absorbing his warmth, imagining that there was more connection between them than just physical. _What would it be like to belong to a wizard, again? What would it be like to belong to Draco Malfoy?_ Waking up with a man across her would be a lovely way to forget loneliness ever existed in her life.

 

Draco shifted; his hand slipped lower and his leg pushed her knee over farther. Chills broke out across Hermione’s skin, followed closely by rippling heat. Draco breathed a sleeping sigh and the sound went straight to Hermione’s core. Pleasure zipped through her, warming all of her bits. But it wasn’t real, it didn’t mean anything.

 

Spell broken, Hermione struggled free from Draco’s limbs and out of the bed. She glared down at him. He continued to sleep; exhausted, no doubt, by his transformations. Werewolf or not, who did he think he was to come into her home and _cuddle_ with her?

 

Spurred by the sight of Draco stirring, Hermione hustled into the kitchen. There was no reason to let him know he’d been _spooning_ her in his sleep. For some reason, Hermione found herself blinking away tears. She damned Draco for confusing her. Waking up with him beside her elicited warmth. She’d conveniently forgotten the lovely sensation of someone caring for her. But Draco didn’t care for her. He paid her for services.

 

The sound of his footsteps moved slowly from the bedroom to the kitchen. Hermione couldn’t look at him; not with tears in her eyes. She blinked down at the counter, her back to Draco. She heard him move closer and gasped as his arms slid around her waist, pulling her to his chest. His face pressed into the spot where her neck met her shoulders and he breathed deep.

 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured. Heat rolled through Hermione and she tipped her head back, melting against him. When his hands leisurely slid from her stomach to her hips, her blood sang like warm honey. He wanted her. At the moment, she didn’t care if his was only temporary interest. _It had been so long since a wizard had touched her…_

 

~*~

 

“I don’t want to leave,” Draco growled.  

 

Hermione cracked open her eyes; afternoon sun streamed in through the curtain, warming her skin. An arm meandered across her stomach and pulled her onto her side. Hermione looked up into Draco’s face and swallowed. She’d let it happen. …She could barely believe it. A werewolf in her bed. _Draco Malfoy_ in her bed.

 

“I’m not kicking you out,” she airily replied

 

“I have business waiting for me at home,” Draco said.

 

Hermione could only reply with “Ah,” as he leaned close and smelled her hair.

 

“In about two hours, actually,” he said.

 

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She remained quiet, watching spots of sun dance across the bedsheet.

 

“I better go,” Draco murmured and kissed her hair. “I’ll return.”

 

“Four weeks,” Hermione reminded him, stretching her arms over her head.

 

“No sooner?” Draco asked with a frown.

 

Hermione didn’t want to set expectations. “That’s really up to you, isn’t it?”

 

Draco tipped her chin up and they examined each other. He kissed her softly and whispered, “Sooner.”

 

Listening to him move around the room, Hermione’s eyes drifted closed and she allowed herself to be pleased... For at least a few moments.

 

When Hermione finally stirred from bed, she found her little house silent. Draco was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Pouring her guest some tea, Hermione luxuriated in the warmth of a thick blanket in the crisp evening air. The opportunity to enjoy drinks in the garden would soon be under a blanket of winter snow.

 

“If you don’t mind my saying, Hermione, you’re looking a bit pale.”

 

Hermione glanced nervously away; she’d been wondering if the older witch would notice differences in her appearance. Hermione sat back down and palmed her mug before stuttering a confession.

 

“I-I’m pregnant.” It was the first time she’d said it aloud and warm pleasure flooded her.

 

To her credit, Minerva’s eyes widened only a little. “The werewolf?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione replied softly.

 

“Congratulations,” said the older witch.

 

Hermione sipped her tea. “Thank you.”

 

“Is he happy?”

 

While the question was a bit probing, Hermione knew Minerva asked because she cared. A tension she didn’t realize she’d been feeling left her shoulders and Hermione sighed.

 

“He doesn’t know,” was her haunted reply.

 

“Are _you_ happy?” Minerva asked, gaze steely over the rim of her cup.

 

“About a baby? Very much. I’ve always wanted a family,” Hermione replied, gaze seeking the tree line, remembering Draco’s joy at speeding along it. Why hadn’t he returned?

 

“And him?” Minerva pressed.

 

Hermione sighed, “I don’t know.”

 

“Are you going to tell him?”

 

“I haven’t heard from in over a month.”

 

“Have you considered sending him an owl?”

 

“I’ve considered it all. I want to have this baby and I’ll figure him out if he ever comes back.”

 

“I assumed you supplied his Wolfsbane Potion.”

 

“So did I… I hope - I hope he’s alright.”

 

“Goodness, Hermione. If emotions are involved, send the boy an owl.”

 

**In the Beginning…**

 

Draco Apparated into the shadows of the tree line; he wasn’t certain of Hermione’s reaction to his delayed return. His enhanced senses guided him to the garden where the witch was pulling weeds. He watched her for a moment, remembering the night they’d shared and gathering himself.

 

As Draco pondered how to announce himself, he caught her scent. It still appealed to him but it had become significantly more complex. Hermione suddenly stood and arched her back, hands on her hips. Bewildered at the change he sensed, Draco forgot all about his plans to apologize for his extended absence. Hermione spotted him and smothered a gasp. She shook her head at him.

 

“What’s happened?” he asked

 

“What do you mean?” she tartly replied, brushing off her skirt.

 

“You’re different.”

 

“How’s that?” she asked with a slight lift of her chin.

 

Draco could see wariness and pain in her eyes. “You… You smell different.”

 

Hermione quirked a brow. “I have been working in the garden all day. Is that your way of telling me I stink?”

 

Draco moved closer to her but she stepped back. “And now… Fear?”

 

“What do you want?” Hermione scowled.

 

This wasn’t going at all the way Draco had hoped. “I want to explain.”

 

“There’s no need for that,” Hermione replied in a softer voice. She knelt and gathered her tools.

 

Almost unconsciously, Draco touched her shoulder. Confusion slipped through him as she dropped the garden tools and covered her face, stumbling away. She burst into sudden tears, leaving Draco mildly horrified.

 

“I should have owled,” he said lamely.

 

“You owe me nothing, Malfoy,” Hermione’s sobs ceased as quickly as they had begun.

 

“Why are you crying?” he asked, a touch of impatience reaching his voice.

 

“Because, I’m pregnant, you idiot!”

 

Had he heard that correctly? Cold filled Draco. He shook his head as if to clear it. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He dared not ask if it was his child. Hermione did not have other wizards in her life. Of course, it was his.

 

“I’ll raise the child myself. I ask nothing of you. No one even need know it’s yours,” Hermione said in a rush.

 

“But it – it won’t be… A werewolf?”

 

“No, he’ll be fine,” Hermione said, hands sliding across her stomach.

 

As the shock slipped away, Draco felt inexplicable warmth fill him. Hermione Granger was pregnant with his child and all he wanted to do was drag her back to her bed. The change in her scent made sense, now. What he smelled was her and his child.

 

“He?”

 

Hermione shrugged. “I think he’s a ‘he’.”

 

“You weren’t going to tell me..?” Draco asked, hurt.

 

“You said you’d be back soon,” Hermione replied without anger or blame.

 

“If I had known…”

 

Hermione gave a heavy sigh. “Oh, what’s the difference, Malfoy? Are you going to make an honest woman of me? I’ve already said you owe me nothing.”

 

“I meant to return. I wanted to.”

 

“But?” she asked, summoning her dropped items back into her arms. 

 

Draco felt a moment of panic. Surely, she wouldn’t dismiss him without hearing him out. “My mother and father have returned.”

 

“They would not approve,” she stated, hardness gleaming in her eyes.

 

“Of the child?” Draco asked. She didn’t understand his parents. The change in his circumstances had been suffered and, finally, accepted. Just thinking about his mother’s reaction to Hermione’s pregnancy made Draco queasy; she’d shit rainbows and unicorns. 

 

“And me.”

 

“They didn’t seem to mind my asking you to join us for dinner.”

 

“You’re asking me to join your family for dinner?” Hermione asked, sounding as if he’d asked her to translate ancient runes using Arithmancy.

 

“Yes. Why don’t we go inside?”

 

“I’m not interested in being patronized,” Hermione said testily.

 

Draco shot her a glance. Hormones? “Who’s patronizing? I just want to sit.”

 

As he followed the witch into her home, he resisted the urge to touch her. He’d missed her horribly but hadn’t known how to explain his attachment to his parents.

 

_Narcissa and Lucius had returned for him; their notoriety mattered less than being with family. Draco had shared with them how he’d found a witch who brewed the Wolfsbane Potion and allowed him to stay with her during the full moon. Then, the other night, his father had invited Draco into his study for a drink and shoved a tattered, old book into his hands. It seemed that Lucius saw through Draco’s moroseness. According to the book, werewolves, like every day wolves, mated for life. Draco Malfoy, werewolf, had chosen Hermione Granger._

_The revelation had not staggered Draco. His instincts had told him that Hermione was his and his eagerness to return to her leant to the presence of feelings deeper than fleeting attraction._

_The next morning, in a stilted conversation with Lucius, Draco confessed his connection to the witch. His father suggested he do some contemporary wooing and invite her to a family dinner._

 

“I suppose you could use a strong drink,” Hermione offered in an ironic tone.

 

Draco ignored her moodiness. He was certain of her affection and interest. “I wouldn’t say no.”

 

Draco settled onto the sofa; it felt comfortable to be back in her little home. The low ceiling was speckled with afternoon sun reflecting off the crystals hanging in her kitchen window and a fire from earlier smoldered in the grate. With a few casual flicks of her wand, Hermione sent a glass of gold liquid levitating to Draco.

 

“You’re welcome to turn tail and run,” she added, watching him from the kitchen doorway.

 

“Don’t martyr me. I just need a minute,” he said with some amusement and sipped the rum.

 

“I’m asking nothing of you,” Hermione repeated, crossing her arms.

 

Draco frowned at her. She was anxious. “You want to have this child,” he affirmed.

 

“Yes. I’ve always wanted a family.” Hermione looked at her feet and shrugged; “Not like this, exactly, but yes.”

 

“You want a family?” Draco repeated.

 

Hermione nodded, eyes wary.

 

“I didn’t get that from our talks.”

 

“‘Our talks’?”

 

“Well, our walks. You talked, I listened.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and then hooded with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you’d understand me.”

 

With a wry grin, Draco finished off the rum. “You want a family – is that more than one child?”

 

“Yes, well, I’m in no position for that.”

 

“How unexpectedly traditional,” Draco purred. He was teasing her and enjoyed seeing her fight a smile.

 

“Yes, well…” she replied breathily as Draco stood and moved towards her. She didn’t back away.

 

“How about dinner and the one child just for starters?” he asked, slipping his hands up her arms and around her back. Warmth suffused Draco to hold her, again. Hermione answered with a kiss that took Draco’s breath away

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Not Epilogue, Cursed Child, or Pottermore compliant  
> Beta: No takers. Wanna?  
> Started: March 2, 2017  
> A/N: I have no idea where this bunny came from but it has hold of me and just won’t let go until I write it!


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